


Irony Explained

by Kintatsu



Series: Crepuscular Courtship [1]
Category: Hidamari Sketch
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, character exploration, unless I misremembered something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 22:21:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13397478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kintatsu/pseuds/Kintatsu
Summary: Miyako (MEE-YA-KO)Meaning: Beautiful night childWhile few would argue "beautiful", "night" seems ill-fitting for a girl most would describe as "sunny".  And considering that she was only ABLE to attend Yamabuki on a full-ride scholarship, it's hard not to wonder where her relentless optimism comes from...





	Irony Explained

Miyako learned to swim by falling overboard in a storm. That she stayed afloat long enough to do so was extraordinary. That she washed up on a jungled shore was incredible. That she survived long enough for rescue… well. That was nothing short of miraculous.

A lifetime later, she never did tell her friends and loved ones how long she was in the jungle. Frankly, it didn't matter; it was long enough. Long enough for the jungle to sink roots. Long enough for the jungle to sink roots too deep to be removed. Long enough to ensure that a patch of her soul would forever be vibrant, primeval _Green_.

It changes a person, the kind of hunger she experienced. It was the kind that could only be felt by one who didn't know where their next meal was coming from, if there would _be_ a next meal.

It changes a person, the state of alertness she entered. It was a state that could only be reached by one who had no contingency in place, and no ability to _make_ one.

Then she was brought out of the jungle, returned to her family, to a world of abundance and safety… but the hunger and alertness didn't _leave_. She still ate every meal as if it might be her last, still woke at the _slightest_ unexpected sound, for all that familiar noises could fail to stir her.

As disturbing as the changes may have been to those who’d known her before, they were actually the source of what would come to be known as her signature sunny optimism; they came with a sense that life was too precarious to waste time dwelling on the bad parts, or worrying what people might think. So what if she still dreamed of light filtered through broad leaves, of the roar of wind and waves? So what if she was still straining for the slightest rustle of opportunity, still attuned to the smallest hint of danger, still hungry? She had a roof over her head, food on her table, and friends to watch her back. Life was good.


End file.
